We’ve all been hurt, right? I don’t mean by some snotty blonde in middle school when we were hormonal and fragile… I’m talking about getting spit off your dirt bike and the sudden stop that follows. It’s one of those things that binds all motocross and off-road riders and racers; we can all relate. I broke my wrists so many times as a kid I can’t even count, but it wasn’t until I turned 18 that I really grabbed some gears and started snapping and popping bones and ligaments like I meant it. I just wonder how people handle the time from injury to surgery to recovery, because it’s not an easy journey.

There are five stages of grief: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and, finally, acceptance. With most of my major injuries I can look back and recall going through each step with all of them. Denial, for me, was always the first 12 hours after getting hurt. All the work I had done to get to that point seemed wasted and I always found it hard to believe I was going to be on the sidelines for a while.

The first couple doctor appointments transition you from step one to step two. By the time I was heading to surgery I was an angry man. If the OR medics missed an IV or didn’t cover me with warm blankets, I was a grumpy asshole, and I’d like to apologize to all the medical personnel who found themselves on the business end of my emotions back then.

Bargaining seemed to carry on through many of the stages, depending on how bad the injury was. God was likely laughing at the deals I was trying to cut with him as I awaited MRI results, went into surgery, went through physical therapy and finally got back onto the bike. The most difficult stage was post-surgery, before I could start PT; I was typically on pain meds and between the constipation, the mental fog and being confined to my couch for weeks on end, I found myself in some dark places at times. That depression is part of the process, and we each have to figure out the best way to deal with it. I always tried to spend time with family or friends who I neglected while I was busy racing.

Lastly, the acceptance phase is usually reached when you can start moving again. The endorphins from working out and doing the normal day-to-day activities we’re used to, lift you right out of that slump and finally get you on your way to moving on. Like I said at the beginning… I wonder if all of you have had similar experiences? Let me know in the comments.

My worst injury was, unequivocally, my crash in San Diego in 1996. I drifted off the track in a rhythm section and landed on a hay bale, back when they were ACTUALLY bales of hay. I got flipped over the bars and broke my right femur, tore my left ACL, broke several bones in my hand and severely bruised my back. Rough night. I lost consciousness when they gave me pain meds en-route to the ER, and when I came to, I was laying on the ER table… you know the ones with the big, round, swiveling light overhead? Understand that the protocol for any significant trauma is to “strip and flip” the patient, meaning you have to cut off their clothing and expose any injuries that would otherwise be hidden. I could see my reflection in the stainless steel and I was naked as the day I was born. One nurse was drawing blood from my right arm, another was starting a large bore IV in my left. The ER doctor was pulling traction on my broken leg and they were assessing my left knee. It was a real shit-show. The coup de grace of the situation was the nurse starting a foley catheter in me while all of this was going on [That’s the tube they jam up your pee hole when you’re going to be in surgery for a while]. I was in shock from the trauma and blood loss, so I was already shivering. On top of that, they keep it colder than an Omaha Steaks meat locker in there; I was freezing. So, I wasn’t exactly impressive in my presentation, if you know what I mean. Between the frigid temps in the ER and the multi-system trauma, my fully-exposed junk looked like a stack of dimes that added up to roughly 80 cents. In that humbling moment, I found myself dealing with all five stages of grief at once. The following couple days were trying, but I got through it with the support of many industry friends and, especially, my new friend, Morphine. The worst part of the experience was the requirement to go home: The nurse told me I could leave once I had a bowel movement. It had been a couple days and they have to be certain your bowels are moving before they can send you home. After all, I had consumed enough narcotics during my stay to buy the hospital’s pharmaceutical rep a second home in Aspen. I was up for the challenge though and began eating stool softeners like Tik Taks and drinking Metamucil like it was a drinking game. Then, suddenly, I broke into a flop sweat as my stomach gurgled. I began the slow, painful journey to the toilet with my two screwed-up legs and managed to get seated in time. What happened next, I’ll never be able to fully explain to you. It felt like a Volkswagen bug passing through my GI tract, it smelled like a homeless man’s crotch in July and it looked like something you’d see in a horror film. It wasn’t my finest moment, but my discharge papers were being readied and it was time to move on to the depression phase of my recovery.

Got a rough story from an injury or a surgery? Let’s hear it. Hope everybody stays safe and has a fun weekend. See you next time.

6 replies
  2. Stefan Ray
    Stefan Ray says:

    On Thanksgiving day 2005 over in Iraq my small assault team got ambushed. I took an AK-47 round through my knee. Came in through the medial side, dug a tunnel through my patella and exited on the lateral side. Once I got to the green zone and in the ER there was myself and 3 deceased members of my team. They had IV’s going in both my arms. Like you, I was freezing. This guy comes walking in with a portable X-Ray machine and takes X-Rays of my knee. Two bags of Saline down now and 2 more hooked up. There is no worse feeling than freezing and having to piss like a race horse. Now this surgeon comes in to the ER and started marking on my knee. Then he breaks out a scalpel and is JUST about to start cutting and I yell STOP! WTF are you doing? He tells me there a some small fragments that are close to be superficial and he wants to get them out. I asked if he was at least going to numb the area up with some lidocaine or SOMETHING? He then looks at me says, you’re on a morphine drip. I tell him I’m on nothing. I’ve been here for almost an hour and still no pain meds. It’s been almost 3 hours at this point since I was shot. The Doc then yells for the nurse and asks why I haven’t been given any morphine. She blurts out “I knew I forgot somebody!” I’m like, I’m in here with 3 other deceased soldiers. You gave my deceased teammates morphine???? Complete sh!t show!! That’s US Army Healthcare for you. Mind you, I was the Doc on my team. I knew everything they should have done and didn’t. So the round clipped my MCL and literally dug a tunnel through my patella and clipped my ACL on the way out. As the Doc on my team, I carried a 65 pound AID bag full of everything needed for combat care along with 65 pounds of battle armor. The firefight we were in lasted roughly and hour and fifteen minutes. I was running around shooting, moving and communicating the whole time. That’s the power of adrenaline. Once I came down from it, my left leg was like trying to balance on a toothpick. In 3 days time post incident the lazy nurses were simply doing wet to dry dressing changes on my gunshot wound. I was on morphine (finally) but they weren’t paying attention and I had developed a serious case of cellulitis. I called me Brigade Surgeon and had him get me the hell out of there where I could be treated properly. I refused to leave Iraq and stayed at the Level 2 treatment facility ran by the Air Force that was close to my Team. I went through all the grieving emotions you mentioned AND dealt with the loss of my fellow soldiers. Like everything in life, you heal and learn from it. After my surgeries to repair my knee I got to it. Within 3 months I was riding a spin class style bike 4-5 hours a day. Then started running. When I got home I spent 7 straight days on my dirt bike at my home track. It’s what got me through therapy. Just the thought of riding and racing again. I believe with any major injury you have to have SOMETHING that makes you get up and look forward to. That’s what gets you through it all. I turn 52 tomorrow and I still throw down on my dirt bike! I ride for myself and every military VET that can’t ride for whatever reason. Ping, I’ve told you before, but THANK YOU for the best content in MX/SX that’s put out. Thank you for all you do for our amazing sport. We are all glad you are here.

    Reply
  3. Jeff Beaver
    Jeff Beaver says:

    Dude the laying naked on the table, spine broken, freezing balls. That was the worst. The. Trying to shit out a live of concrete after 13 days on drugs. That was terrible. All the while I had a psycho nam vet in the bed next to mine. Thought he was gonna mistake me for Charlie in the middle of the night and slit my throat. 😃

    Reply

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